Those of you who know Erin personally are undoubtedly aware of her ability to transform the slightest sniffle or sign of fever into a full-blown medical emergency. It is one of her many talents. Once, she had me on the phone at 11:30 p.m. with the on-call nurse at our family practice seeking opinions on whether or not her 102 degree fever warranted rushing to the ER for an ice-bath. She made me conduct a follow-up call to ensure the nurse hadn't changed her mind and neglected to inform us. I did this without the slightest indication that I found the entire enterprise remarkably preposterous, mind you.
If Erin has tended to blow her health problems out of proportion, I admittedly have tended to remind her of it more often than I should have. The pregnancy has changed all that now, however.
Frankly, things got downright terrifying while that little guy was busy developing his cute. At some point during it all, Erin's gallbladder, in one of its less-loyal displays, decided to jump ship, taking its last store of helpful bile and dispensing it into her blood-stream before imploding. This resulted in a general loss of morale, as Erin's skin became relentlessly itchy all over and she suffered from what felt like full-scale myocardial infarctions twice a week, on average.
It was during one of these heart-attack-esque moments that my police first responder training finally came in handy. Not only did I neglect to dial 911 until her father, who I had called, told me to, but I also administered a most embarrassing round of CPR, at her request, consisting of me blowing air, bubble-wand style, into her mouth from a distance of four inches. Not only is that the incorrect technique, to say the least, I'm pretty sure the victim shouldn't have to actually tell you to provide life-saving oxygen to them. Anyway, the very capable fire-fighters got there and saved Erin from me quite heroically.
And now, as if going through all that plus actually birthing the little blob and then having her gallbladder extracted through her bellybutton weren't enough, we now have a baby who catches every imaginable funk and germ possible and lovingly shares it with us both. Erin's favorite flavor is viral bronchitis. I keep catching something but refuse to go to the doctor, so it hasn't been formally identified yet.
So, as an apology to all faithful readers, Erin has been under the weather once again but will soon be back in posting form I'm sure. Happy trails.